


Synthesis, Revolt, Decay

by Evoxine



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Nephalem, Nephilim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 14:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12191922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evoxine/pseuds/Evoxine
Summary: Things are built, things are threatened, things are destroyed.





	Synthesis, Revolt, Decay

Humans tend to envision Hell as a place of bloodbath, of fury, of never-ending flames. More often than not, Hell is also portrayed as a sleazy place, filled with dark, filthy corners and alleyways that almost certainly spell doom. In reality, Hell looks just like Earth, which in turn looks just like Heaven. The three main realms are separated by Limbo and Purgatory, black and white realms of nothing but flat land.

Demons tend not to leave the confines of Hell, preferring to keep to themselves unless a dire need manifests. Angels, on the other hand, travel freely amongst all realms. And as for humans, they live a blissfully ignorant life.

Sehun likes to sit on the edge of Hell, feet dangling into the shiny darkness that is Limbo. He likes it because it’s quiet – he doesn’t get any judgemental stares, any scornful scoffs, anyone questioning his existence. Here, it’s just him and him alone, save for the occasional soul stuck in Limbo.

Born to Uriel, the Archangel, and Astaroth, the Grand Duchess of Hell, Sehun is a Nephalem. Grey wings littered with black and white feathers, platinum blond hair with a large streak of blood red, emerald green eyes, and markings of a Nephalem tattooed to his pale skin – he stands out like a sore thumb in Hell, an unwanted beacon amongst a sea of black and red. His mother had insisted that he remain in Hell, for sending him to Heaven would almost guarantee the fall of his father. An angel having a child with a demon is a far greater transgression in Heaven than in Hell, so Astaroth had kept Sehun by her side as she forced Uriel to leave.

Sehun doesn’t really remember anything about his father; but he figures that it’s better than remembering him and missing him.

 

 

 

  
The ironic thing is, Nephalems are naturally much more powerful than most demons and angels. Nephalems are neutral beings, spirits that possess equal amounts of power from both Light and Darkness. Now, _technically_ , they’re able to align themselves on any point of the spectrum, but _in actuality_ , they have absolutely no choice due to how oppressed they are, despite the power they hold. If a Nephalem tried to take control of Hell or Heaven, to do things his way… there’re just far too many demons and angels to fight – for there would definitely be an uprising.

As such, Sehun had chosen to live a life of solitude. He only interacts with his mother and Dantalion, a Great Duke of Hell and his only childhood friend. With such great status in Hell comes great responsibilities, so Sehun tends to find himself alone, seated by the edge of Hell with his art supplies surrounding him, much like a mockery of friends he does not have.

Sometimes, he likes to travel to the other end of Limbo, where he paints and sketches humans on Earth. Although free to descend into Earth, Sehun never does, for fear that the scorn he receives in Hell will somehow spread to the humans. It is here, on the edge of Limbo, that he meets Jongin for the very first time.

 

 

 

  
Jongin is a Nephilim, with a Seraph as his father and a human as his mother. Born without any angelic features – pointed ears, clear blue eyes, and a head of platinum hair – apart from a pair of wings, he spends most of his time in Earth, choosing to stay away from the strict rules of Heaven. While not ranked at the top of the hierarchy, Jongin is considered to be part of the higher ranks, thanks to his father’s position as a Seraph. Growing up, he had made full use of his power and position on the Tribunal, attempting to change how Heaven was structured and ruled. He hated how rigid everything was, how their relations with each other lacked warmth. He hated how status, for many, was mainly determined based on birth, not hard work.

His activities are what led to the removal of one of his wings – he’d flatout opposed Michael’s rule and disagreed with many points of Gabriel’s, and as a result of bruised egos on the Archangels’ parts and pure bluntness (rudeness?) on his part, Raphael had suggested the removal of one of Jongin’s wings as punishment.

He could earn it back, but that would mean grovelling at their feet, and Jongin would not do that even if it would cost him his life. Unhappy with life in Heaven, he’d chosen to descend to Earth, where rules were lax and humans (mostly) judged themselves.

Occasionally, he’ll stop by Purgatory to see if anyone there requires aid, and he’ll peek into Limbo to check on how efficient the processing times are for those poor souls. It’s much harder to travel without his wings, but he makes do.

He’s heading back from a month-long visit to Earth one day, hugging the border between Earth and Limbo, when he literally bumps into a fluffy wing.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he splutters around the feathers in his mouth. The wings draw back to reveal an equally surprised face, with flushed, pale cheeks and wide, green eyes.

“Oh no, I should be the one apologising. I tend to forget that wings are a hazard to many.”

Jongin watches curiously as the being in front of him sets aside a sketchpad and folds his wings down against his back.

“Are you an angel..?”

“Yes and no,” is the quiet answer. “I’m a Nephalem.”

Realization dawns on Jongin.

“You’re Sehun. Son of Uriel and Astaroth.”

A wry smile adorns Sehun’s lips.

“Yes.”

There aren’t many Nephalems in the world – Sehun is the most recent case –, and the birth of one is news that will inevitably travel to all realms.

“You’re not a full angel either,” Sehun comments. “You look human. Apart from your wing, of course.”

“My mother is human,” Jongin says, taking a seat next to Sehun. “Seraphiel is my father. My name is Jongin, by the by.”

Sehun hums, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “So, Jongin. Do the angels hate you as much the demons hate me?”

“Probably not,” Jongin answers, after a thoughtful pause. He sounds sympathetic; Sehun hates it.

They sit in silence for a while, Sehun returning to his sketch and Jongin observing as the Nephalem works. It takes a moment for Jongin to realize that Sehun’s drawing him, a solitary figure in the corner of his landscape.

As Sehun starts sketching his wing, he speaks.

“What happened to your other wing?”

“It was taken away from me,” Jongin says, shrugging. “I talked back to a couple of the Archangels and they didn’t like it.”

Sehun snorts, shades in some shadows, and adds a few more details to the wing.

“Is this your haven?”

“‘Haven’ is stretching it,” Sehun mumbles, emerald eyes rising off his sketch to gaze down at the humans milling about on Earth. “This is just a place where the chances of a horde of demons planning to kill me are slim.”

Jongin peers at Sehun’s face and sees the wistfulness in Sehun’s eyes.

“What’s wrong with Earth?”

“It’s an unknown,” is all Sehun says.

 

 

 

  
Both half-bloods meet every Sunday, at the same time, at the same place.

Jongin, a novelty in Sehun’s mundane life, becomes the focal point of many, many, pieces of art. The Nephilim’s reborn multiple times through different art mediums, and it’s almost as if Sehun gets more inspiration with every finished piece.

In return, Jongin entertains himself by regaling Sehun with tales of his adventures on Earth. He tells the artist about the different types of people he encounters, the vast variety of food he samples, the wonders of the Earth – all thanks to God – that he gets to admire.

Their friendship develops rapidly and intensely. They find a primal connection in each other, solace in the other’s presence, and a mutual understanding that cannot be replicated elsewhere.

“Come down to Earth with me,” Jongin says one day.

Sehun, hands covered in charcoal, stills in his movements. The only thing that remains moving are their wings.

Jongin had half-expected Sehun to decline, so when Sehun agrees, he turns his head around out of surprise. With a disapproving click of his tongue, Sehun leans over and nudges Jongin’s head back to where it’s supposed to be, leaving a smudge of black on Jongin’s jaw in the process.

“Don’t move,” he admonishes.

“You’ll come with me? Really?”

“If you promise you won’t leave my side,” Sehun says softly.

Jongin’s wing swoops down to caress Sehun’s cheek.

“I won’t.”

 

 

 

  
When Sehun finally steps foot on Earth, he falls in love with it instantly. Here, in this realm, people smile at him when he walks down the street. Here, everyone looks different from each other, and there’s no clear disdain coming from any human just because of how he looks. Here, The soreness in his back from having to keep his wings hidden is the only negative thing he has to deal with, but Jongin’s infectious excitement easily pushes the discomfort to the back of his mind.

Sehun finds out that Jongin has a life down on Earth, one completely separate from his status as an angel of God. The Nephilim works at a non-profit organization, goes to dance classes when he has spare time, and is the owner of an adorable puppy.

“You… can have all of this?” Sehun asks, looking around Jongin’s loft in awe. “God won’t take it away from you?”

“As long as I don’t cause harm to anyone, I’m free to live how I want to,” Jongin replies, pouring out two glasses of lemonade. “Lots of angels live like this, actually. Heaven may look the same as Earth, but the intricacies of life are vastly different. We enjoy the relative freedom we get down here, and interacting with mortals is so interesting.”

Sehun accepts the glass and peers at it curiously. “What’s this?”

“Lemonade! It’s a drink made out of lemon, sugar, and water. It’s the most refreshing thing ever.”

Once the first sip slides down Sehun’s throat, the rest soon follows.

Sehun sets the empty glass down on the table and stares at Jongin, eyes wide.

“That was amazing.”

Jongin grins.

“There’s so much more to life down here, Sehun, and I want you to experience that. Come on, I want to introduce you to my one true love – fried chicken.”

 

 

 

  
During the day, Jongin brings Sehun out to sightsee – Jongin’s dog accompanies them wherever they go –, and Sehun finally understands why tourists always seem so excited, even though he was never able to witness the joy on their faces from his perch so far away. They travel across the world, making full use of their ability to teleport wherever they want to go. Without the need for sleep, they travel in the quiet of night, taking the opportunity to roam empty streets and experience the true definition of ‘night life’. While they do visit all the world wonders, Sehun prefers to wander down cramped alleyways and around crumbling corners, past the heart of the city and into places tourists would never think of visiting.

“These are the hidden gems of the city,” Sehun tells Jongin, and Jongin can only agree with him.

Jongin is the sole witness to Sehun’s first ever bout of laughter, ab muscles tensing so much that it hurt the man to breathe. He’s the one who discovers that Sehun loves spicy food but hates jalapeños, that Sehun sings at the top of his lungs in the shower, that he really likes getting his nails done.

He’s captivated by the growing light in those bright green eyes, illuminating what was once dulled by suppressed pain. The Nephalem is truly beautiful when he smiles, so stunning that it renders Jongin breathless, chest tight as he tries to regulate his breathing.

The great thing is, happiness is not finite.

The moment Sehun discovers the amazing invention that is the camera, he starts documenting their adventures, going through rolls and rolls of film. The walls of Jongin’s loft starts to fill up with photographs, glossy papers appearing alongside Sehun’s paintings and sketches of everything beautiful he’s seen.

“I’ve never drawn so much in my life,” Sehun marvels one day, flipping through yet another finished sketchbook. “I never knew that there was so much beauty out there.”

“Have you ever looked in a mirror?” Jongin comments absent-mindedly, distracted by his puppy running circles around his ankles. He only realises what he’s said when Sehun falls silent, and he turns beet red.

“Um, I mean –”

Jongin’s words end up getting lodged in his throat as Sehun suddenly surges forward and presses their lips together. The loud pounding of Jongin’s heart reverberates in his ears, and the sound is almost deafening. A sudden gust of wind causes Jongin’s eyes to snap open – Sehun’s wings had ripped through the fabric of his shirt, the appendages allowed to spring free as Sehun’s attention is completely centred on the warm, pliant body beneath him.

But Jongin could care less about the wings currently surrounding them, because Sehun’s doing something _very nice_ with his tongue, and all he can smell is the sweet, light scent that only belongs to the Nephalem in his lap. There are lithe fingers curling around the strands of his hair, and a slight tug causes Jongin’s lips to part in a silent groan. Sehun takes the chance to flick his tongue past those supple lips, and Jongin latches onto the muscle with a suck and a gentle pressure of teeth.

When they part, Sehun’s wings have wrapped them in a soft cocoon, and all Jongin can see is the glimmer of green from Sehun’s eyes.

“Should we talk about this?”

Sehun presses their foreheads together and shakes his head ever-so-slightly.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he whispers. “I just want it.”

 

 

 

  
They build a life together.

It takes months for Sehun to finally want a rest after all the travelling, and they settle back into Jongin’s humble loft. Sehun easily establishes a name for himself as a freelance photographer, and he accompanies Jongin to his dance classes where he sketches Jongin’s body in movement. They make mortal friends, and Sehun learns what it’s like to be around people who accept him for who is he. His art transitions from landscapes of neutral, cool tones to portraits of bright, warm colours, and he’s pretty sure he couldn’t be happier.

Some nights, they’ll draw their curtains, light up some candles, and will the night away in each other’s arms, complete with soft kisses, lots of nuzzling, and wandering hands. Sehun almost – _almost_ – forgets about his life back in Hell, back in that damned place where he was regarded as someone with lesser worth than a pet rat.

“Have you ever thought about visiting your mother?”

“I have,” Jongin admits, playing with the red strands of Sehun’s hair. “But what would I say to her? ‘Hi, I’m your long lost son, the one you conceived with an angel’?”

“You don’t have to interact with her,” Sehun points out, “you can just look at her from a distance. Aren’t you curious about how she’s living? If she has a new family?”

“I am,” Jongin sighs, “but I’m forbidden to go looking for her. After my birth, the memories of anyone who knew of my existence were wiped. To her, I do not exist. And if I reveal my identity to her, the delicate balance of the world as we know it might get disrupted. I’d rather not have that on my hands.”

Sehun turns to nose along the slope of Jongin’s jaw.

“I always wonder what it would be like to have my father with me,” Sehun says, eyes travelling over all the photographs strung along the length of the wall. “I’d like to spend a day with him, you know? Just father and son. Does he think about me? Does he even remember I exist?”

 

 

 

  
Thank the heavens that Sehun’s a deep sleeper. It makes sneaking out of the apartment that much easier. The sun has barely bled out onto the horizon when Jongin steps out onto the roof of their building. He closes his eyes, battles his nerves, and teleports back to Heaven.

At the gate, he runs right into Inias.

“Jongin? I haven’t seen you around for a while. Where have you been?”

“Busy,” Jongin answer vaguely, glancing past Inias into the city. “Do you know where Uriel is?”

At Inias’ shrug, Jongin ventures inside and embarks on a manhunt.

It takes him almost an hour to find Uriel; the Archangel is seated in one of the city’s largest gardens, with Raguel by his side. They seem to be deep in conversation, so Jongin settles down on a bench and waits.

The second Raguel stands and leaves, Jongin walks over.

 

 

 

  
“You know my son?”

Jongin nods. Uriel doesn’t speak for a while, eyebrows drawn together in pensive thought.

“Is he…”

“He’s doing a lot better now.”

Uriel nods, the movement slow and calculated. Something doesn’t feel right.

Then, Uriel rises, wings fluttering. “It’s against the Word to fraternize with a Nephalem. They’re not pure beings.”

In utter disbelief, Jongin stares up at the Archangel.

“That’s all you have to say? You’re his father!”

“You are to cease all contact with him immediately,” Uriel goes on, as if Jongin had never spoken. “If I find out that you haven’t done so, you will have to face the Tribunal in order to determine an appropriate punishment for your sins. And as for what will happen to him, I do not know.”

With that, Uriel departs. The brush of his robes against Jongin’s arm sends shivers down his spine.

 

 

 

  
Nothing changes.

They continue to wake up in each other’s arms, to spend the mornings in bed with breakfast and old sitcom reruns, to spend the afternoons roaming the city, to spend the nights cooking dinner in the kitchen for their friends.

Well, it _appears_ that nothing has changed.

A couple of months after Uriel’s warning, Jongin catches sight of Rachel, Castiel’s lieutenant, across a busy street, staring right at them. His blood runs cold, and the only thing he can think of doing is to grab Sehun by the arm and pull him into the nearest crowded mall.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jongin lies, glancing over his shoulder. “It was really hot outside. I wanted the AC in here.”

Sehun looks at him oddly – Jongin knows his excuse is horrible at best – but he doesn’t push for any other explanation.

 

 

 

  
Jongin can feel that they’re living on borrowed time. It’s like a thick film that coats his pores, and sometimes he wakes up gasping for air, the guilt almost suffocating. There are so many things that he wants to do with Sehun, and now he’s almost certain that he’ll never be able to. With every passing day that he ignores Uriel’s warning and remains on Earth by Sehun’s side, he risks both their lives. But he can’t tell Sehun – he doesn’t want to see the world shatter around Sehun’s shoulders, the world they had carefully built together. He doesn’t want to be the reason for that.

It’s a Sunday morning, and Jongin finds himself with an armful of a half-asleep Sehun. He traces the Nephalem markings around Sehun’s neck and bare shoulders with a finger, and the man in his arms hums contentedly.

“Do you think we’ll be able to live like this forever?”

The question pierces Jongin’s heart like a poisoned arrow.

“I don’t know, Sehun.”

“I would pray to God, but I know he hates me,” Sehun quips, snorting at his own joke. Jongin doesn’t say anything, simply continues to run his fingertips along Sehun’s skin.

They stay that way until sunlight pushes past their half-drawn curtains and floods the room.

When Jongin makes to pull away and get out of bed, however, Sehun twists around and pulls him back down. Their lips meet, and Jongin feels a sudden desperation to claim this being as his own, to be able to taste him for however long he wants, to let Sehun mark him as his, too.

Strong hands around the base of his skull coaxes Jongin closer, and Sehun shifts to let Jongin settle between his legs.

“Take me,” Sehun murmurs, words hot against the swollen flesh of Jongin’s lips. “I know you want to.”

_It’s against the Word to fraternize with a Nephalem._

Jongin ignores the voice in his head as he tweaks a nipple; Sehun arches into him, slides an ankle around Jongin’s calf.

_They’re not pure beings._

Baring his teeth in a silent snarl, Jongin ducks his head to hide his expression and sucks a bruise into the curve of Sehun’s shoulder. Sehun, oblivious to the battle in Jongin’s mind, runs warm hands down the gentle slope of Jongin’s back and dips his fingers past the band of Jongin’s boxers.

“Jongin,” Sehun sighs, his name a happy exhale upon his skin. Jongin swallows, pauses, and reaches down to rid them of their underwear.

 

 

 

  
With every cry of his name spilling out from between Sehun’s lips, Jongin has to hold back an ever growing flood of apologies.

Nails dig almost painfully into his back, right above where his lost wing once extended from his body, and Jongin thinks it’s fitting for the pain to be there.

He pushes deep into Sehun, drops a kiss to his cheek, and circles his fingers around the slick head of Sehun’s cock. His wing arches uncomfortably as he drives into Sehun, over and over and over again –

– Sehun comes with a shudder, veins in his neck showing loud and clear, cock twitching in Jongin’s grip, come dribbling down onto his torso. Jongin follows right after, eyes attempting to squeeze away tears as he releases into the Nephalem.

He can feel Heaven revolt.

 

 

 

  
It’s barely 30 minutes later when the door to the loft blows open.

He barely manages to throw out his hand when Michael sends hundred of blindingly bright arrows raining down on them – Jongin’s able to conjure a flaming shield strong enough to turn those arrows into moondust, and they drift down into small piles by his feet.

“You have sinned,” Michael declares, sky blue eyes blazing.

“I beg to disagree,” Jongin replies.

“He’s a _demon_ ,” Michael snarls.

“So is your brother.”

Michael’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly as Sehun’s words sink into him.

“And I am also one of _you_ ,” Sehun finishes, balls of electricity forming in the palms of each hand. “How do you claim to be just and accepting of all when _I_ am a part of you that you’ve chosen to ignore?”

Jongin, just as stunned as Michael is, sees a sliver of fear flash past Michael’s eyes. No one knows the extent of Sehun’s abilities, and Jongin has an inkling that they’re immense.

Static starts to flood the air around them, and Sehun’s hair rises into the air, the red streak clashing dangerously with the silver. Green eyes narrow, and his markings glow with a dull, thrumming light.

Then, before anyone can react, bolts of lightning rain down around the Archangel, shattering the walls and furniture into piles of fine rubble and turning piles of photographs and artworks into ashes. Michael retaliates just in time, his arrows of light redirecting Sehun’s lightning bolts into the floor, effectively blowing up a large hole in the ground.

There are flashes of light above them, and Jongin knows that God is sending down support for Michael.

“Sehun, it’s okay. I’m the one getting punished. I don’t want you to –”

“No.” The note of finality is so strong in his voice that Jongin knows arguing will be futile. “I’m not letting them take the one good thing in my life away from me without a fucking fight.”

Power explodes out of Sehun, eager to be used after being kept tucked away for so long. The very sky crackles, and Sehun begins raining bolt after bolt of lightning down on the coming army of angels, all the while sending large spheres of electricity straight at Michael’s form. Jongin drops a kiss on the back of Sehun’s neck, right on the middle of his Nephalem mark, and soars higher in order to join the fight.

Sehun and Jongin hold their own for a long time, flooding the space around them with electricity and fire as they chip away at Michael. The army’s long dissolved, the wounded angels retreating back to Heaven and the dead ones merely represented by a tiny orb of light hovering over where their bodies once stood.

It’s not until the arrival of all the Archangels do they finally get defeated.

Upon seeing themselves trapped within a circle of holy magic, Sehun lets out a cry of despair. Invisible restraints snap around Jongin’s wrists and ankles, and the force of magic pressing down on Sehun’s chest is too powerful for even himself to break through. He’s forced to watch as the Archangels pull Jongin back towards Heaven, forced to choke on his own tears as he witnesses Jongin’s useless struggle to break free from his restraints and reach out to him.

An Archangel pauses by his side.

“I’m sorry,” Uriel says.

Those words cut right through Jongin’s screams of his name, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. Instead, Sehun keeps his eyes fixated on Jongin’s form, growing ever smaller, and another angry tear slides down his face.

“Sehun!” Jongin shouts. Sehun sees flames lick around Jongin’s wrist pathetically. “I love you, okay? Hey, I lo –”

Then, Uriel shoots forth and the gateway to Heaven closes, leaving Sehun falling back down onto their destroyed home, bloodied, panting, and empty. _I love you too_ remains right on the tip of his tongue, unsaid, and right there and then, Sehun decides that he hates his father.

 

 

 

  
Sehun’s punishment is no punishment at all, and yet it’s the worst punishment he’ll ever receive. Forced to return to Hell, he spends his days under the wary and fearful gazes of demons once more. Dantalion is a small comfort, the Duke unsure of how to help his friend through a problem that’s never presented itself to him before. Astaroth, herself heartbroken and angry at Uriel, keeps gazing at her son with pitiful eyes – Sehun can’t stand looking at his mother for more than a few seconds at a time.

After the extent of Sehun's powers become known, lesser demons try to acquaint themselves with him, in hopes of drawing him and his vast amounts of power onto their side. But Sehun ignores them all, once even striking a poor demon – who wouldn’t listen to Sehun’s requests to _fucking step aside_ – with so many thunderbolts that he’d died instantly. Since then, everyone’s learned to leave him alone.

Aside from a single polaroid that he had found in his pocket, all his tangible memories of Jongin have perished in the battle, and Sehun is left with the images in his mind as he tries his best to recreate them onto paper. He returns to his spot on the edge of Limbo and returns to staring down at Earth, the place he’d once called home.

He rarely sleeps anymore, because sleep is something he’s come to associate with the warmth of Jongin’s arms. Instead, he returns to Earth during the night, returns to every single place they’ve been to together, and leaves for Hell once the sun begins to rise. Sunrises belong to Jongin, too.

 

 

 

  
The last few things that Jongin remembers before everything goes white is the feeling of Sehun’s fingers buried in his hair, of Sehun’s smile pressed against his lips, of Sehun’s unique scent.

There’s an odd feeling of weightlessness.

Then, a day after, a mortal baby by the name of Kim Jongin is born, crying his little heart out, in a hospital barely a few blocks away from their destroyed loft.

 

 

 

  
The day Sehun finds out about Jongin’s reincarnation, the world witnesses the worst thunderstorm in recorded history. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written angst in a while, sorry if it's shitty uwu
> 
> And yes, I left the ending open (ish?) on purpose.
> 
>    
> [Click for Links!](https://bluedveins.wixsite.com/evoxine)


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